


Excalibur

by RedTeamShark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Avenger Clint, Canon Divergence, Cuddles, Dragon Steve, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Minor Or Background Characters: Erik Selvig and Jane Foster, Minor/Unnamed Character Deaths, Possessiveness, Relationships can be either romantic or platonic depending on how you read it, Transformation, dragon Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Waking up chained to a wall wasn't what Clint Barton would call his ideal morning. And finding out that he'd been taken prisoner not just by Hydra, but by the dragon they apparently had only complicated things more. Deep underground with no way to contact his team and no hope of escaping on his own, his options were limited.Good thing he was a resourceful guy.--My id ran away with dragons and I let it. The relationships here can be read as either romantic or platonic so I tagged both, but there's lots of cuddling either way.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers & Everyone, Steve Rogers/Everyone
Comments: 31
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to Mika for beta-ing this incred-ible mess and add-ing so many hy-phens to the story that I was un-aware of need-ing.
> 
> (I'm gonna get stabbed for this.)

He had, on occasion, woken up in worse circumstances.

Not _much_ worse, but _hospital room_ still outranked _chained to a wall_ when it came to Clint Barton’s Top Ten (ish) Worst Places To Wake Up.

His head pounded with the bad decisions of the past… Well, he wasn’t sure how long. An entire lifetime of bad decisions made it harder to narrow down. This was probably less than a day worth of problems, though. At least he was still dressed. Disarmed but not disrobed, that was a bonus.

The chains that secured him had rattled when he’d woken, so there was no point in feigning continued unconsciousness to assess his environment. For that matter, he could hear, which meant whoever had taken him either didn’t notice his hearing aids or didn’t care that they existed.

Slowly, careful not to cause too much of a disturbance and draw attention to himself, Clint started to test his bindings. He lacked leverage with his arms stretched above him, but his legs were free. If he needed to, he could haul himself up and gain some leverage that way. Whoever had him had put his hands together. Idiot.

Well, not really _whoever_. The list of people who could have him was incredibly short, unless he was particularly unlucky. He’d been doing some covert investigations of a Hydra cell, a base buried in the Rocky Mountains. Rumor was that they had some sort of weapon out there. He’d infiltrated, gotten eyes on a few _interesting_ things, and then--

Then it was fuzzy and probably involved another concussion.

Clint went back to trying to escape his bonds and looking around the room.

His eyes lit up as he spotted his bow and quiver, not too far away. So some Hydra goon was able to get the drop on him and knock him out long enough to chain him up, was smart enough to take his primary weapon, but they’d left it in the same _room_ as him? The situation was almost laughable. What, they thought because he was only human, _this_ was enough to secure him? Idiots.

The rest of the room was mostly empty, rough-hewn stone and piles of rocky debris. If it wasn’t for the bondage gear he was currently hooked up to, it could have been a natural cave. Well, the ominous lightbulb in the middle of the room also suggested that the place was man-made. He craned his neck to the left and right, searching for any sort of exit. There, far to the left and almost out of view, growing shadows. Not a door, so probably a tunnel leading out.

Room assessed, he finally looked up, curious and frustrated that his questing fingers hadn’t found a weak point in the chains. There should have been a shackle or a knot or something that he could start working open.

He stared for a long time, disbelief leaving him slack-jawed. What. The. _Hell_.

The chains were wrapped around his wrists, which was about what he expected, but rather than having some sort of logical method of holding him, they were simply… fused. The metal had been melted together just above where his bound wrists were, leaving him effectively trapped. There was no way he could tear through that. He wasn’t the damn Hulk!

Clint might have spent the rest of his life just staring in disbelief at what held him, but approaching footsteps caught his attention. He tensed, ready to kick up a fuss, to fight whoever came in, to start in on the sarcastic bravado… and all of that died in his throat as the figure approached him. Moving slowly, almost animalistic, taking in his captive as intently as Clint took in his captor.

The eyes were the first thing he saw, could have been the _only_ thing he saw. So harshly blue they were almost white, like a winter sky, with pupils that narrowed to slits as he came into the room. Clint forced himself to look further, to see the full form in front of him.

Brown hair hanging lank around his face, framing those eyes, tucked behind the mask he wore over his mouth. Just below that was a collar, thick and chokingly tight. His bare torso rippled with muscle and his _arm_ … Clint swallowed as he looked at the metal that was apparently welded to the figure’s skin. Shining silver with a red star painted on the shoulder, the fingers tipped in razor-like claws. His right arm also ended in claws, and that more than anything cemented a terrifying piece of the whole awful puzzle.

“Holy shit,” Clint whispered after a moment of quiet, “Hydra has a fucking dragon.”

The man--beast--froze, staring at him.

New assessment: this was by far the worst circumstance he had ever woken up in.

* * *

The staring contest couldn’t have lasted very long. Or it could have; time down in a cave was sort of irrelevant. Eventually, however, the dragon blinked, looked away, started moving again.

His clawed fingers, metal and flesh, twisted in front of him and Clint blinked out of his trance, looking away from those frozen sky eyes and down to the movement. It looked like… sign language? Rudimentary, but all of his own attempts with it were half-assed at best, and after a moment it clicked what he was saying.

“ _...knows you’re here. No one knows you’re here. No one knows…_ ”

“No one knows I’m here, got it.” Actually, a handful of people knew where he was, generally speaking. Hopefully more friends than enemies.

The signs changed and Clint squinted. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. I can’t read very fast.”

The dragon looked at him, head tilting curiously, but he did slow down. “ _Mountain stops tracking. My place. Secret. Too many tunnels. Get lost. No yelling. Mine._ ”

Talk (hah) about information overload. Clint nodded anyways, piecing it together. The mountain would stop any sort of beacon he had from being tracked--that made sense, that was a risk he knew he was taking going in. This place where he was now belonged to the dragon and was secret, as in even Hydra maybe didn’t know it was here. That wasn’t really _relieving_ , raised even more questions, but if Hydra didn’t know he was here, he stood a better chance of escaping unscathed. Though escaping was questionable at best. This wasn’t a friendly information sharing session, it was a warning: if he started wandering the tunnels, he’d get lost and probably end up dead. And if he started wandering and yelling for help or something, well, Hydra would find him and his dance card was definitely already full with a dragon on his hands.

Topping the list of concerning things, however, was that last short sentence. _Mine_. Not a question, not a continuation of a previous statement. It wasn’t like he’d recognized this dragon from _research_. Clint knew first hand how possessive they could be over anything considered theirs, and if this dragon was claiming him… Not an optimistic sign for his chances of escape.

The dragon was looking at him, almost expectantly, and Clint licked his lips before speaking. “Okay… Okay. I can’t really wander off when I’m--” The words cut off with a little yelp as the dragon moved, faster than a blink and in his face. The metal hand grabbed the chains just above Clint’s wrist and he winced in anticipation. Heat had fused the metal; it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was about to happen.

He lowered his arms slowly once they were freed, finally put all his weight onto his feet and gave his shoulders a rest. Clint rubbed his wrists, not moving from where he was pressed up against the wall. The dragon stayed close to him, reached out with that same metal hand, freezing when he flinched. 

“Sorry,” Clint whispered after a moment, watching the dragon’s face warily. “I don’t like to be touched by people I don't know, but… it’s okay. You can.” Maybe it was a dragon thing, needing permission to touch. Maybe that was what made them so possessive. Not even being able to touch another living thing without verbal consent… Clint wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but he appreciated a hand up when he fell, a clap on the back when he did a good job, a gentle hand checking him for injuries when he got in over his head. Especially (almost exclusively) from the few people he'd chosen to put some trust in.

The dragon took his arm carefully with his flesh hand instead, turned it and examined his wrist before repeating with the other. He seemed satisfied, slowly stepped out of Clint’s personal bubble and tilted his head towards the tunnel in a _this way_ gesture.

It was pushing his luck, but he had to try. Clint walked carefully, eased closer to his bow and quiver. He was almost within reach of them when the dragon growled and he froze.

The _no_ was clear enough. Easing back, he looked toward the dragon, swallowing. “Please?”

“ _You don’t need them. I’ll protect you._ ”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly. Might as well push his luck. “I’ll stay if you let me keep them.”

It wasn’t going to work, it was a total shot in the dark. He couldn’t fight his way out even with his bow, not against a goddamn _dragon_. But if anyone could make a metaphorical (or literal) shot in the dark, it was Clint Barton. After a moment of studying him, the dragon nodded. Clint didn’t give him time to change his mind, scooped up the bow and quiver and moved to the tunnel. “Thank you.”

The warning that there were too many tunnels, that he’d get lost, seemed true enough. The dragon didn’t bother to blindfold him as they moved through the cave system, only used a light touch to guide him in seemingly random directions. It was pointless to try to memorize his path, he’d only get himself back to the room he’d woken up in, but Clint did it anyways. Some of the tunnels they passed through were lit, others plunged into seemingly endless darkness. Occasionally the floor would grade up or down, only noticeable from the burning in his calves. 

Eventually, they came to an open space, lit not with electric lights but by the dim glow of bioluminescence. Clint looked around as well as he could, his eyes adjusting to the low light slowly. There were a few small piles of odds and ends around, some reflecting the shine of the glowing moss, others little more than dull rubble. He stepped closer to one, frowning.

“This is your horde?”

Near the door, the dragon nodded, crossed his arms and looked around.

“I would have thought Hydra would have you swimming in lost Nazi gold.”

He made a low growl behind the mask and Clint held his hands up. “Sorry. So what hap--”

The growl grew louder, the dragon stalking towards him. He didn’t flinch, but he shrunk back slightly. Hands lifted in front of him, moving quickly. 

“ _Stay._ ”

The order was more than clear, and Clint nodded. “Of course.” He watched as the dragon backed away towards the tunnel they’d come in from, sucking in a harsh breath at the distinct sound of a door slamming. A heavy, metal door, if he had to guess. A moment later, he could see a dull red glow coming from it. The dragon had fused it shut, just like the cuffs he’d woken up in. Clint really _was_ going to stay, then.

With a sigh, he got to work on step one of the Clint Barton Twelve Step Program For Being Kidnapped.

* * *

Twelve steps was probably overselling it. Step one was simple, assess the environment, and he’d done most of that before the dragon had even sealed the door. Clint unslung his quiver, digging in and pulling out a flare, lighting up the cave. Like he expected, it was small and mostly sealed. There was a hint of an air current, smoke from his flare drifting off to the left, but there didn’t seem to be anywhere large enough for him to crawl through. 

The piles of rubble were about what he expected. A few scattered coins, some shell casings, scraps of other metals. A lot of rocks, some with gemstones, most without. He sifted through one pile carefully, shaking his head. For a dragon’s horde, it was minuscule. The collar was already a hint, but this was like a neon sign.

This dragon was not with Hydra willingly.

He had other things to worry about, however. Regardless of what the dragon said about him being untrackable down here, Clint had a feeling that his team would find him. The tracers in his equipment might have been useless, but if he didn’t check in on schedule, the others would come looking and they knew where his job had started. They’d also piece together that he hadn’t been captured by Hydra (well, not directly, it seemed) when there was no video of him being tortured sent to the rest of the Avengers.

“Almost be easier if that was the case,” Clint muttered, running his hands over the door. The metal was still warm, misshapen at the seam with the wall. As he’d expected, he was sealed in.

There were other problems to contend with, too. The cave didn’t have a water source and he was getting thirsty. He had a few supplies with him, but he was already plotting out how long those could last and coming up worryingly short. The dragon belonged to Hydra, willingly or not. Had found him while he was on recon, knocked him out, taken him to a lair. Who knew why he had left, if that had anything to do with Hydra, how long he would be gone. Clint was supposed to check in every twelve hours and the others would start a search if he didn’t make contact within fourteen. There was no way to know how long he’d been unconscious, but he _did_ know that he was due to check in within the next four hours when the dragon knocked him out.

Working generously to his own resilience, the others were already waiting for his late check in. Thinking more logically, they’d already scrambled to start a rescue effort. When they weren’t able to get his tracking beacons, they’d start scanning in other ways.

Clint sat down with his few supplies and got to work.

If step one was to assess the environment, then step two was to find a way out. Everything else after that was branching paths of various steps.

They’d find him, that was all that mattered. It was just a question of when.

* * *

“He’s late.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “He still has three minutes.”

“He’s _late_.”

“Steve.” She reached up, touched his arm as he passed by her again. “Stop pacing. We knew the mountain would block our tracking. He’ll make his check-in.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

Steve went back to pacing.

Truth be told, Natasha was worried, too. Clint was a lot of things, including chronically late, but he didn’t fuck around on the job. If he was cutting it this close on his check-in--or if he missed it, a thought she couldn’t bring herself to even entertain--then there was a real problem. He’d been doing a solo reconnaissance of a Hydra facility. Ever since the twelve-hour mark came and went with no contact, she’d been fighting down the uneasy feeling that a video file of him being tortured was on the way.

Fourteen hours. He was officially late.

Natasha flipped the switch from _receiving_ to _transmitting_ and tapped the broadcast button. “Barton.”

Staticy silence greeted them.

Steve’s hands closed around the edge of the desk as he leaned into the mic. “ _Barton_.”

Still nothing. She shared a look with the blond, before pressing a few more buttons. “Last known coordinates are--”

There were deep grooves in the metal of the desk when Steve pulled away, stalking out of the room. 

She caught him before he made it to the jet, grabbed his arm and dug her heels in. “ _Steve_. We can’t just go barreling in there. Will you stop and _think_ for a minute?”

“He didn’t check in.”

“We don’t know exactly where he is. And Hydra hasn’t sent us a taunting video. If they had him, they would have by now.” She reached up--hell, he got big when he was worried--and touched his cheek lightly. “Let me do this my way, first. If I can’t find him, then we’ll do it your way.”

Steve frowned, leaning into her touch just a little. By the time she lowered her hand, he was visibly calmer. “How long do you need?”

“An hour. At the most. Go find Tony, tell him what’s going on. I’ll keep you updated, I promise.”

It worked, miracle of miracles. Natasha headed back to the communications base, sitting down and putting the headset on over her ears. Steve was clearly upset, no one was surprised by that, but unease had started eating into her, as well. Clint didn’t fuck around with the job. He didn’t miss check-in. Especially not since things with Steve had become clearer to everyone.

Magic and monsters and nothing they were ever trained for, but the two of them were cut from similar cloth. Adaptable. Resilient. Able to face what would send most people screaming in the opposite direction. Whatever had caused him to miss his check-in, he would try to remedy it. Try to get in touch. And she had to be there when he managed that.

* * *

So the problem with Clint missing his check-in was that Steve was only going to be self-righteously angry for about five minutes. Then he would transition to worry--the pacing from earlier, turned up to eleven--and then it would be anxious questions and when all of that died down, it would be moping.

None of which would be too bad if he wasn’t doing it in Tony’s lab.

“I can _feel_ you pouting, Toothless. It’s distracting.”

“How are you not worried about Clint?” Steve huffed from the couch he was sprawled across, still radiating discontent.

“Because it’s _Clint_. His ability to bounce back from disaster is downright uncanny, and when he really gets in the shit, Natasha has his back. Plus, I’ve got J.A.R.V.I.S. running deep track into the mountain. Whatever mess he’s gotten himself into this time, we’ll bust him out and he’ll come home just like always.” Despite his confident words, there _was_ a thread of unease in him. Clint was a flake, but not about the job. Not about Steve. Whatever had caused him to miss his designated check-in was no small problem.

Tony gave up on his repulsor reconfiguration around Steve’s fourteenth agitated sigh. He put the gauntlet down on the workbench, removed his goggles, and crossed the lab to the seating area that he’d begrudgingly installed next to his coffee pot. In fairness, passing out on a couch _was_ more comfortable than passing out bent over his workbench. Sometimes he even got to experience it. He didn’t waste time with awkwardly inching closer, just crawled directly into Steve’s lap and let arms wrap around him, leaned back as the blond’s chin dug into the top of his head. It was immediately bordering on uncomfortably warm, but if this would stop those long-suffering sighs, he’d make the sacrifice. “You’re a pain in my ass, Eragon.”

Steve huffed softly. “That’s the boy, not the dragon. Her name is Saphira.”

“Look who’s been doing his assigned readings.” Tony ran his hands up and down Steve’s arms, linking their fingers briefly. “How ‘bout Falkor, then.”

A rumbling sound accompanied Steve’s next breath, as close to the noises of content as Tony would probably get from him right then. “Didn’t like that movie. Liked _Spirited Away_ , though. The soot sprites were cute.”

“Ah, so we’ve hit the Ghibli stage. Be careful with anime, it’s a prime example of not all animation is for children.” Tony wiggled into a more comfortable position, letting his head drop to rest on Steve’s shoulder. There were definitely a few perks to being part of a dragon’s horde. Mostly that Steve was basically a living, breathing space heater. There’d been more than one morning that the entire team had woken up curled around him when it was particularly cold outside. The heat radiating off him now was pleasant, soothing despite the nerves they were both trying to ignore. If he hadn’t just finished his eighth cup of coffee for the day (J.A.R.V.I.S. cut him off at ten cups or ten at night, whichever came first, but it was usually the former) Tony might have even been able to drift towards sleep.

All ideas of sleep fled as Natasha came to the lab, however. He sat up straighter and Steve shifted behind him, seeming ready to take off and dump Tony on the ground at her word.

“I got contact with him,” Natasha said immediately, holding up her hands. “He’s fine. Alive and unharmed.”

“Does Hydra have him?” Steve asked, fists clenching against his thighs briefly.

“Not directly. It’s… complicated.” Her brows furrowed for a moment, eyes darting to Tony briefly. “J.A.R.V.I.S., can you play a translation of the message I received?”

“ _Of course, Agent Romanoff. Translated from Morse code, the message reads as follows:_

_‘Captured. Held in mountain. Not Hydra? Location unknown. Tracking possible? Prisoner of dragon.’ The message repeats at five-minute intervals. It was last received four minutes ago.”_

“I doubt Clint has a receiver there. He wouldn’t be sending such a long message if he could get a reply and provide more details.” Natasha shook her head. Of course, that wasn’t the real issue at hand.

The real issue was what had Steve growling behind him, not a gentle rumble of content but an increasingly fierce noise of growing rage.

There was another dragon out there, and it had taken what belonged to Steve. This was going to end bloody.

 _“If I may--"_ JARVIS interrupted before Steve could move, and Tony took the opportunity to slip off his lap and get out from between the couch and the door. “ _Agent Barton’s latest transmission has cut off before the usual end._ ”

“Natasha,” Steve snapped out, pushing himself up, his body growing as he stood. “Get the jet ready. Tony, suit up.”

The two of them exchanged a helpless look before nodding. There was no point in arguing with Steve about this. 

It was time to mount a rescue mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint had just enough warning from the hot metal glow of the door. He shoved his transmitter deep into the bottom of his quiver, taking a few steps back and readying himself for a fight. The dragon had taken off so abruptly for seemingly no reason. Who knew what dictated his actions down here and who knew if he had just locked his prisoner in a cell to wait for Hydra to come start the torture.

When the dragon came back, however, he was still alone. He looked Clint up and down slowly, eyes tracking the rest of the room, then stepped out of the doorway and tilted his head.

This time when he went for his gear, the growling _no_ was more insistent. He wanted to push his luck, but… the signal had been sent. And he’d had plenty of time to slip a knife into his boot. He’d be infinitely more comfortable with his bow in hand, but keeping the dragon happy was definitely step one in surviving until rescue could come for him.

He squeezed by in the doorway, pausing only long enough to look into those frozen sky eyes. “I told you I’d stay, and I mean it.”

The right hand lifted, held just shy of cupping his cheek. After a moment, Clint leaned into the offered touch. Cold, so much colder than Steve, but still gentle. The dragon stroked his cheek for a moment, brows pinching together thoughtfully, before tilting his head back up the corridor they’d come down.

The next room he was led to was infinitely more comfortable than the dragon’s meager horde room. There was light from a few dim lamps, there was a nest of blankets in the corner, and a small horde of MREs and bottled water in another corner. There also wasn’t a metal door to seal them in, as far as Clint could see. That was only half nice; he didn’t like the idea of sleeping with no backup and no door between himself and possible attack.

Still, he put on a smile when the dragon turned to him, reached over and carefully took the cool flesh hand in his own. “This is your room?”

The dragon nodded, pulling his hand free and signing. “ _Sleep here. Eat here. Wait for orders._ ”

“Orders… is that what happened earlier? You got orders to leave?”

A quick headshake, a frustrated noise from behind the face mask. In the better light and without the sheen of panic he’d woken up with, Clint caught sight of something disturbing. That mask wasn’t just fitted; it was practically digging into the dragon’s cheeks below his eyes. “ _Perimeter check. Every two hours. Look for intruders._ ”

Clint nodded slowly, his eyes tracking the room once again. It was comfortable, but… it was like a barracks. Nothing personal decorated the space. He’d lived sparse before, but even in his most bare-bones situations, he’d managed to do _something_ to make a long term sleeping space his own. How long had this dragon been here, and how little did Hydra let him have, that even the nest of blankets and pillows seemed to favor function over comfort? “Do you like it here?”

The dragon’s eyebrows furrowed together in what Clint guessed was a frown before he shrugged as if to say _it doesn’t matter_.

“Your mask… it looks tight. Do you want to take it off?”

The reaction this time was almost violent. The dragon yanked back from him, eyes wide, and quickly shook his head. His hands lifted, fingers trembling as he signed. “ _Can’t. Locked. Not allowed._ ”

“Okay… okay, take it easy. But how do you eat?”

He turned his right arm, rolled up his sleeve and showed what Clint guessed was an insertion site for an IV, though there was no bruising or scarring to indicate recent use. Of course not, dragons healed quickly from most minor injuries. 

“Then why the supplies over there?”

The look so clearly read _you’re an idiot_ that Clint didn’t even need to watch his hands. The dragon pointed to Clint, then to the food, rolling his eyes.

“I’m allowed three dumb questions a day, thank you. How long until your next perimeter check?”

“ _One hour thirty minutes._ ”

“And let me guess, I have to go back in the other room while you check?”

The dragon nodded.

“That’s not going to work for very long. I get cranky when my sleep gets interrupted. Why not just let me stay here?” He hadn’t done anything to _earn_ trust, but he also had been cooperative enough to maybe not lose it. Clint moved as he spoke, walked further into the room and inspected the nest of blankets more closely. They were old and threadbare. He’d be better off just lying straight on the ground.

Moving carefully, the dragon joined him, eased into the blankets and held his arms open. Clint bit in a smile at the familiar gesture of invitation, settling in and allowing the arms to wrap around him. Hot on one side, cold on the other, sort of strange but not completely unpleasant. “I know, I know, I complain too much.”

There was a low rumble behind him, the feeling of a nod against the back of his neck. It wasn’t quite the contented near-purr that Steve would make when he was half asleep on the couch, head pillowed in Clint’s lap as fingers stroked through his hair, but it was similar. Clint squirmed into a more comfortable position, turning his head to watch the dragon’s eyes. He seemed… relaxed wasn’t quite the right word. The lines around his eyes would soften when he met Clint’s gaze, but then his attention would drift away, his arms would tighten slightly, and the rumble of content would stutter.

“They don’t know you have me…” Clint started, not a question in the least. “And if they find out, they’ll take me away from you.”

The dragon looked at him again, arms tightening almost painfully for a moment, before he nodded.

“What if…” And oh, he _better_ have read this situation right or he was probably about to have a very unpleasant day. “What if I said there were people who you could go with, who wouldn’t take me away from you? People who would let you have a horde all of your own, as big as you could gather?”

The eyes above the mask were getting wider. A small, needy sound came from behind it and Clint reached up, carefully smoothed long hair back from his face.

“Sounds like you’d like that.”

It was the now-or-never moment--time to take the leap of faith off the cliff. “My friends are going to come looking for me. They’ll want to take me away from you, especially Steve--” The arms around him tightened, the growl low and threatening. “But I won’t let them!” Clint hurried on, his hands drifting around the dragon’s face, to the back of his head. There was a padlock on the mask, fucking Hydra. “I’ll tell them that I want to stay with you, because I _do_ want to stay with you. But you can come with me when I leave. You’re a dragon; Hydra can’t keep you here. They’ll help break you out.” His fingers slid down, feeling along the collar. No locking mechanism there, not even a seam as far as he could tell. “You deserve better than this, you know.” He bit his lip, chanced another look at the dragon’s eyes. His expression wasn’t giving much away. “Let me help you.”

The low noise behind the mask was hesitant. Still, after a moment, the dragon nodded, burying his face against Clint’s chest and breathing fast.

Clint didn’t waste time, grabbed his lockpick set from the pocket at his belt and got to work on the padlock holding the mask in place. Step one, they’d need some more effective communication. The lock itself was child’s play. He would have been able to do it with his eyes closed. He eased the dragon back gently, slid the mask off, and set it aside. Deep red grooves dug into the other’s face, his jaw working slowly as he was finally able to open his mouth.

“Can you speak?” Clint asked softly, thumbs rubbing over the harsh lines from the mask, trying to soothe away the indents.

“Y… yes,” the dragon rasped out, voice sounding rusty with disuse. How long had he been muzzled like that? Clint didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to let anger overtake the planning he would have to do.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay? Just to the other side of the room and back.” A metal hand grabbed his arm as Clint started to move away, eyes locked on his face. He offered a gentle smile, reached up and stroked the dragon’s hair back. “I won’t leave your sight.” Slowly, the arm released him, and he moved across the room, picked up two bottles of water and brought them back to the bed. “Steve runs hot, he’s always getting dehydrated if someone doesn’t remind him to drink water,” he noted, opening a bottle and passing it over. “Hey, do you have a name?”

The dragon drank, slow sips until the bottle was about a quarter of the way gone. He licked his lips, easing closer and letting Clint wrap his arms around him. “Don’t know…”

“It’s okay.” Clint ran his fingers up and down the dragon’s arms, settling his chin on top of the other’s head. “You’re kinda cold, so I’m guessing you’re an ice dragon?” He felt the nod against him. “Except your left arm is fire. So what if…” Oh, god, the only name he could think of was… “What if I call you James? Just until you can tell me your real name.”

The dragon hesitated with the water bottle near his mouth, but after a second he nodded again, took another drink. “James… okay…”

James was a common enough name. No one would tie it back to Clint’s deeply secret knowledge of controversial fanfiction-turned-published-work. Hell, even _Natasha_ didn’t know about that (allegedly, which was to say she’d never blackmailed him with it). 

He settled in to get as comfortable as he could, content to let the weight of the dragon rest on him. Clint wasn’t a small guy--he even had a few inches on _Steve_ most of the time--but dragons were made of densely packed muscle, and his legs were asleep before long. Not that he was going to raise an issue, not with the way James had started that low rumble of content again.

He’d have to get to his quiver and get his transmitter, send out a message that they both needed rescue; no way he was leaving something as powerful as a dragon in Hydra’s hands, and no way the dragon would let him go without a fight. It would wait at least a little bit, however.

Resting in the dragon’s nest was comfortable. Even if he was technically being held prisoner, even if he knew that trouble was on the horizon when the team caught up with him… Clint felt his blinks getting longer and longer, his chest rising and falling steadily.

James would have to go on patrol at some point, and he’d be shoved back into the sealed room and able to send out another message. Clint was content to wait for that.

* * *

The noise that woke him up--some sort of loud _clang_ from deeper in the caves--had Clint on high alert immediately. Over him, James scrambled upright, letting out a low growl before his eyes widened in panic. He glanced down at Clint, looked over his shoulder, and scrambled out of the nest of blankets.

“Mask,” James whispered, grabbing it up and holding it out to Clint, kneeling down in front of him. “Please.”

“Right, okay, I’ll try to make it a little looser than it was…” His brain was fuzzy, trying to catch up. An hour and a half until James had to go back on patrol, and they’d fallen asleep, that meant--

That meant there wasn’t time to put him back in the locked room--both a blessing and a curse.

Clint fitted the mask in place and locked in, brushing his thumb lightly against the edge on James’s cheek. At least it wasn’t digging in as much.

That thought went out the window as the dragon stood, as he puffed himself up slightly larger and everything--mask, collar, clothes--became tight on him. Clint glanced to the open doorway at the sound of footsteps and approaching voices, pitching his words low and fast. “I’ll stay here. I promise. You get out there and do your thing so they don’t come looking for us.”

James hesitated a moment, watching his face before he looked back to the door. He leaned down, waited just a second for Clint to lean into him, and nuzzled against the man lightly. A simple gesture, but there was so much to read into it. James wasn’t just bossing him around or threatening him; he was asking and, in turn, trusting Clint to stay with him.

A moment later the dragon was gone, the sound of voices in the tunnels rising before fading away. There was another heavy metallic noise and, now slightly more awake, Clint placed it as a door closing. So it wasn’t just that he’d get lost wandering around down here. James’s little cave system was also behind at least one door.

Giving himself another minute in the silence to take it in, Clint rolled out of the nest. He grabbed a bottle of water and an MRE, wishing vaguely for coffee. Well, rescue would come soon enough. Assuming his signal had gotten out, and he could give Natasha the puppy eyes on the way back until she agreed to stop at a Starbucks. Or maybe she’d take pity on his harrowing time as a prisoner and bring coffee with her on the rescue mission.

Speaking of, he had to update the team. Clint took a last look around the room, inhaling and exhaling slowly before making his way out into the tunnel.

The caves and tunnels might have been a maze, and James might have been serious about him getting lost wandering around, but Clint at least knew the way back to the horde room. He eased down the rocky paths, his steps nearly silent, his breathing measured. If he’d done the math right, he had at least fifteen minutes before James was back from patrol. That was plenty of time to get to the other room and back. 

The door creaked as he opened it and Clint winced. He waited in the silence for any sign that he’d been heard. Nothing. Clint slipped inside, grabbing up his quiver and digging his transmitter out of it. Still pulsing red, good to know his makeshift wiring was holding up. He looked over his shoulder, tapping out another Morse message as quickly as he could.

_Dragon ally. Caves and tunnels. Patrols._

He considered it, then tapped out a final message. He wouldn’t have time to resend this one like he had the last one.

_Safe._

God, Clint hoped that was true. Tucking the transmitter back into his quiver and giving his weapons a last longing look, he slipped out of the horde room. As long as it kept pulsing red, it would be enough of a signal for the team to lock onto once they were close. And once they were close enough to find his weapons, he’d be able to get to them.

Clint started back towards the nest room, counting minutes in his head. He probably _did_ have enough time to send the message more than once, to increase his chances of being heard, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He was gambling that the team knew he was missing by now and were on the lookout for a different signal. The Morse message was his safest bet of being heard through the tons of earth above him.

And with that claustrophobia-inducing thought, Clint froze at a juncture of tunnels, head cocking to the side. He needed to go left to get back to the room, but… There was a noise off to the right. 

“You’re being an idiot, Barton,” he whispered to himself, starting off to the right. He didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have a decent weapon, and if he got lost… Logic was quickly shoved aside in favor of curiosity. No point in pretending it was anything more noble than that.

The path was quickly enveloped in darkness, and Clint eased along with one hand on the wall, careful to keep his steps light. The distant noise slowly became more distinct, the sound of low voices getting clearer and clearer, echoing down the tunnel to him.

He didn’t notice the light returning until almost too late, so focused on the conversation he could hear. Most of it didn’t make sense, but there was a word in there that piqued his interest.

_Bifrost._

Were these Hydra nutbags really trying to summon Asgard? To send someone _else_ to the land of dragons and magic? Clint shook his head. He wasn’t _surprised_ , exactly, but--

Then again, how had James come about his power? Everyone knew what had happened to Steve; even a high school dropout like him had heard the stories. If Hydra had managed to _also_ send someone to Asgard, or to bring someone _from_ Asgard, to get a dragon of their own… 

And there were places besides Asgard, according to Thor. Lands with all sorts of monsters that humans could only dream of in stories.

If Hydra had done it once, maybe they were planning to do it again. Maybe the weapon they were building in the mountain wasn’t a weapon, but a way to summon more weapons.

Clint nearly stumbled right under their feet, stopped himself only as he realized that he could see again when the light suddenly disappeared. He glanced up as it returned, spotted a narrow grate in the ceiling, heard footsteps as shadows passed overhead.

“Without the Tesseract we have no means of opening the door. Even if we _can_ control where it goes…”

“Not we, Doctor. _You_. Just write your programs and leave the rest of it to us.”

He swallowed, daring a step closer, looking up to the grate and scanning the sliver of room he could see. At least two men, one pacing and the other stationary.

“What use is summoning the Jotun? They’re not likely to ally with you against Asgard.”

“They will if they don’t have a choice.”

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe you’d like to tell that to our dragon?”

The first voice--the doctor--went quiet. Clint eased his way back down the tunnel, chewing on that information.

Hydra was building their own Bifrost, attempting to summon something from another realm. Jotun, those were… He shook his head. Norse mythology, as real as it was, wasn’t his area of expertise. He had the information, he’d get it to someone who could use it once he got out.

Internal alarms were going off as he hurried back, warning him that James could be returning at any moment. Could already be back, truthfully. Clint didn’t actually know how long he had, fifteen minutes had been a generous guess.

He reached the tunnel where he’d gone off the known path just as a door creaked somewhere else in the echoing caverns. Heart racing, he abandoned stealth for time, used the noise of the heavy metal door opening and closing to sprint back to the room he’d been left in. Clint dropped to the nest and tried to make himself comfortable, tried to keep his breathing under control. James had trusted him to stay and he had no intention of revealing that he’d broken that trust.

A minute later the dragon appeared in the opening and Clint offered a lazy grin, unhesitatingly holding his arms open. “Welcome back.”

He helped slip the mask--muzzle, it was a damn _muzzle_ \--back off, let James settle against him. Clint stroked his hair back gently, getting comfortable. “Told you I’d stay.”

Their gazes met for a moment, James’s narrowed in scrutiny, and Clint cursed his big stupid mouth. Before he could keep talking and bury himself deeper, however, the dragon huffed, settled against him more comfortably and closed his eyes. “No wandering off.”

Right. Of course. He would definitely not do that again.

He told the best lies to himself.

* * *

The silence on the jet was tense. Normally it wouldn’t bother her--quiet was preferable to Tony’s constant stream of quips and oversharing--but in the silence, the worry could surface.

Not that anyone could read that from the outside. Natasha was stoic as she flew towards the mountains, left the worried pacing to Steve, the harried scanning to Tony. There were a handful of frequencies that Clint might try to send out a signal on and while they’d locked onto one at the tower, it had been radio silence since it cut off.

Never should have sent him in alone.

That was neither true nor charitable, but short of biting her own lip bloody, there wasn’t anywhere else for her concern to go. 

“Hey we got a signal!” Tony called from the back, a series of Morse beeps broadcasting over the jet. Natasha had translated most of the message before J.A.R.V.I.S. verbally stepped in.

“ ‘ _Dragon ally. Caves and tunnels. Patrols. Safe.’ There has been no repeat of this message thus far._ ”

A small piece of the ball of dread in her stomach broke apart and eased. One corner of her mouth curled up into a smirk. “Ally. How the hell does he keep doing that?”

“Good at taking in strays,” Tony agreed, shaking his head. “J, can you get a lock on that signal now that we’re closer?”

“ _Scanning is in progress._ ”

“Good enough.”

Steve let out a low growl near the back of the transport. “I’ll tear the mountain apart to find him.”

“Easy there, Smaug. Let’s not forget what started this whole mess in the first place. Barton wasn’t on a ski trip, he was investigating a tip about Hydra weapons.” Tony looked between them, shaking his head. “I know we don’t want to consider the worst, but if they’ve got some freaky-deaky mind control stuff…”

Natasha shook her head quickly. “Clint wouldn’t let it happen. Anyways, he said more than just ‘adopted a new pet’ and ‘no really guys, I’m fine.’ Caves and tunnels means he can’t find his own way out. Patrols means he’s left alone every… two hours or so. Our best bet is to get the drop on the dragon when it’s on patrol and make it lead us back to him. Or follow it using stealth, but I have you two with me.” She glanced over her shoulder at their silence, raising an eyebrow. “What? I speak Hawkeye fairly fluently.”

“I would have put that together soon,” Tony muttered, his faceplate dropping down to hide his pout. “So, how do we stop Hydra from crashing our rescue mission?”

Steve stepped closer, his fist curling up briefly. “Leave that to me.”

It wasn’t a great plan, but they were getting close to Clint’s original drop point and it was better than no plan. Natasha nodded, turning her attention back to flying. “The closer we get, the more likely J.A.R.V.I.S. can lock onto Clint’s transmitter. Tony, you’re with me.”

It pretty much killed the stealth approach, but if they could get the dragon alone, and if it really _was_ Clint’s ally… There was a slim chance of everything working out.

* * *

There had been a boy--glimpsed only through the smoked glass and silvery spiderweb cracks of old, old memories--who had been destined to grow into a good man.

There had been a good man who had been offered the chance to become something more than a man.

No one had ever told him that being more than a man made him a monster.

In the shining void between where he had been and where he was meant to go, he had been touched by absolute power. It had whispered sickly sweet promises to him, of what he could obtain, of the infinite resources at his disposal if he gave himself to this power. Temptation had curled its sweet claws around his heart.

And because he was a good man, he had refused it. He had surfaced in Asgard, the land of the dragons, and he had spent centuries learning to curb the sweet taste of power. Learning to be a man with a monster inside him.

He had come back moments after he had left, but he was no longer a man.

Was there any such thing as a good monster?

Wrestling with his own standing on it was hard enough. His friends--his horde, his most precious treasures--treated him as a good man. They didn’t tread carefully around his barely contained power. His enemies fled in terror or fought to stop him, screaming about a monster all the while. He had mostly learned to tune them out, to listen to the words of his friends that assured him he was still a good man.

These same enemies that called him a monster had a monster of their own now.

“We’re at the drop zone, Steve. Opening the bay doors in 3… 2… 1…” Natasha flipped a switch and he gave her a quick, snappy salute before diving from the jet.

He grew as he fell, from a man into a monster. Wings unfurled from his back, a gleam of red and silver scales armored his body. Claws grew from his fingertips and fangs from his gums. He landed, huge and horrifying, in their midst and let out a fiery bellow, a reverberating roar that would draw the attention of everyone within a two-mile radius. It would give Natasha and Tony plenty of time to infiltrate and rescue Clint.

The power that had whispered sweet promises of eternity to him surged within him and he grinned. It was time to let his enemies see what happened when such power was given to a monster rather than a good man.

Vaguely, under the gunfire and screaming, he could hear the familiar voices of Natasha and Tony. Between himself and the Hulk, communication that superseded monstrous transformation had become a key area of Tony’s research and development. The nanotech pieces they all wore now let him hear as the others landed the jet and started their much quieter infiltration. Clint hadn’t had one, so even at the closer range, he wouldn’t be able to communicate his location to them. Steve’s senses were flooded with blood and smoke, his mind a raging machine of chaos and destruction. He wasn’t the best option to mount a rescue right now, regardless.

“Oh, shit. _Shit_.” Tony’s voice echoed in his head and Steve paused, let out a low, questioning growl. “Get some cover and get a little more able to talk, Steve. We got big bad news here.”

Most of the first wave that had run into a fight with him had been scattered, killed or maimed or otherwise incapacitated. Still, he found a rocky outcropping and got behind it, shifted slowly back to something almost human. “Talk to me, Tony.”

“They’re building a Bifrost.”

“Shit.”

Tony laughed, maybe a little hysterical. “Yeah, my sentiments exactly. But this… we found a computer and there’s schematics on it that look almost exactly like what little of Dad’s old notes I could recover. In fact, some of these scans are his handwriting…” He trailed off for a moment, before speaking again. “There’s no way Hydra is making heads or tails or this without some very smart people, and most smart people are smart enough not to join Hydra in the first place.”

“Kidnapped scientists?” He guessed, looking over his shoulder as voices called out behind him. Looked like the back-up had arrived.

“Nat’s looking into it. Seems like we might be rescuing more than just one person today. I’m gonna stay here, have J.A.R.V.I.S. start destroying all their digital hard work. Still no sign of Clint’s new best friend, so it looks like rescue duty falls to you. Look for caves and tunnels. Your earpiece should ping if you get close to his beacon even with all the rocks, assuming he remembered to turn that on.”

Steve’s answer was a roar as he turned back, thick scales deflecting the gunfire that Hydra probably thought was an ambush. Caves and tunnels, right. That meant getting inside the mountain.

Blast doors meant almost nothing to his battering ram of a body, and even the explosives that started being thrown at him once he was inside were only a minor inconvenience. He’d chew through steel and spin out nails to rescue one of his own.

A scent caught his attention as he stalked through the facility, the familiar warm bitterness of coffee… almost smothered by something else, something that made him think of wind whipping snow past his outstretched hand--

Steve shook that off, turning and blasting a line of fire behind him. That would slow them down. He shifted into something more human, nanotech tickling along his skin as his scales receded, leaving him still at least somewhat armored. With a little grunt of effort, Steve shouldered open the door, hearing the creaking echo down the hall. He cocked his head, listening, before following the pull of his instincts.

The first room he came to had him growling, claws scraping against the wall as he looked around. Misshapen metal cuffs hanging from the ceiling, high enough that if Clint had been strung up here, it would have strained his shoulders. Steve turned away quickly, weaving his way through increasingly complex tunnels. When he found the other dragon, it was dead… _No one_ hurt what was his and got away with it.

The human side of him tried to fight such thoughts, tried to control them, but for the moment, stress and fear were coalescing into something wicked, something dark that curled around his heart and told him exactly how to take care of this situation. Retrieve his stolen property and then seal it away somewhere it would never be taken again. Seal all of them away, keep them safe, keep them _his_ \--

Clint’s scent spiked again and Steve stopped abruptly, stared at the door, at the hand-shaped lump of melted metal that served as a lock. He snorted, his palm heating up as he grabbed it, easily breaking the seal and nearly ripping the door off its hinges. “Cli--” He started, cutting off at the empty room. Clint had been here, but so had the other dragon--its scent was all over this place. Cautiously, Steve stepped inside, giving it a cursory once-over in the dim light. Small piles of horde, almost nothing compared to the collection he had, most of it gathered subconsciously. Steve kicked one of the piles to rubble, frowning as he spotted something behind it. A curving bow and a black quiver, purple fletching on the arrows sticking out of it. He tried to take a breath, keep his temper, but the growl inside him was building to a roar. Steve scooped both up, shoving his way out of the room and this time absolutely knocking the door off its hinges.

“Clint!” He shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnels back to him. “ _Clint!_ ”

There was a rising growl from deeper in the caves and Steve didn’t think, he just ran towards it. There was a target, there was an enemy, someone who had taken what was his, someone he could kill--

He came out of the tunnel into a wider opening with his claws out, ready to maim and murder and rescue Clint. The good man had been shoved aside in favor of the monster, would be the one to deal with the consequences of his rash actions.

Shoved aside but not entirely suppressed, perhaps the only thing that stopped him from acting first and not thinking at all. He saw shining blue-white scales and a silver metal warm with red curling at the clawed fingers, heard the growl growing in his own throat to match the threatening noises from the other dragon. Steve was a half-second away from springing into battle when Clint ran between them, holding his hands up at both dragons.

“Stop it, both of you!”


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn’t taken that much for him to start talking. No torture, even. James had settled into the blanket nest and looked at him, and Clint had felt his mouth moving faster than his brain. He was in the midst of a frankly hilarious and absolutely true recounting of the events that had landed him and Natasha in a hostel in Budapest, posing as honeymooners while smuggling--

A blaring alarm interrupted him, James tensing next to him. Before either of them had a chance to move, a roar echoed down the tunnels.

Clint knew that bone-shaking sound. It was Steve and he was _pissed_. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around James and tugged him a little closer. “Trust me, you don’t wanna get up and go investigate that.”

“Have to. It’s my job.”

“That noise is one of my friends. I told you they’d be coming for me. It’s better if we stay here, let them find us. That way I can explain that I’m staying with you.” He cupped James’s cheek lightly, meeting his eyes steadily. “I won’t let them take me away, but that means you can’t fight them, either.”

Hopefully, it’d be Natasha that came and found him. She’d listen. Steve… probably wouldn’t. 

The blaring alarm cut off and James buried his face against Clint’s chest, his eyes closing tightly. “Okay…” He whispered after a moment, breath coming in quick little pants. “I won’t fight as long as they don’t take you away.”

For a minute they stayed there, quiet and calm as a fight undoubtedly raged outside. Clint considered getting up, going to his equipment and seeing if he could somehow boost the signal, but--explaining to James that he wasn’t trying to escape when he’d sent the signal was going to be difficult. _Come rescue my dumbass_ could really only be read so many ways, and despite his words… he _had_ intended to just get out when he’d sent the first message.

A small noise pulled him out of his own head, eyes tracking down to James’ face. The dragon was biting his lip almost bloody, his hands fisted at his sides. “Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Clint whispered, tipping James’ chin gently up.

“Hurts,” he bit out after a moment, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut.

Panic fluttered in his stomach and Clint leaned back, looking James up and down quickly. There was no sign of injury on him, no source of pain that he could--

The collar. Of course. He could have smacked himself for being so clueless. Clint reached up, touched it lightly and yanked away with a hiss. It was burning hot, his palm was already turning red, and with it so snug against James’ neck… “Fuck. We gotta get that thing off you.”

The need was obvious, but the how was much more difficult. It didn’t have any visible locking mechanism that Clint could pick like the muzzle had. As far as he could tell, it was a closed circle, completely sealed against James’ neck. “Okay, um… Tony might know a way. Assuming he came along. Which means we should--”

They both heard the creak of the door opening. James’ eyes went wide and he scrambled upwards, freezing as he got to his feet. Carefully, he scented the air, a low growl leaving his throat. Clint hurried to his feet as well, grabbed James’ hand and squeezed gently. “Hey, look at me. James. You promised not to fight. Look, I’m not leaving you, I’m staying right here, promise.”

Just as James’ face started to relax, as his hand squeezed in Clint’s, they both heard the shout.

“ _Clint!_ ”

Echoing down the halls and really, he never stood a chance of stopping this from happening. James’ body seemed to _ripple_ as he grew, blue-white scales crawling across his skin, claws and fangs extending. There was a ripping sound as his pants gave way, a tail lashing out behind him and nearly taking Clint off his feet. The growl that echoed down the tunnels was matched, then covered, by the one coming from James’ throat, the room’s temperature seeming to drop five--ten--fifteen degrees in an instant. 

He shoved Clint back without much care and stalked out of the room.

No doubt, it was Steve that had yelled for him. The _worst case scenario_ had Clint stunned for a moment too long, had him forced to run behind as James stalked into a fight that he really didn’t want to see. Adrenaline overtook common sense (an easy thing, he’d realized a long time ago) and Clint started sprinting.

Getting between two dragons about to go at it was possibly the stupidest decision he could make. He was only human, made of fragile flesh and thin bone. He didn’t even have a _weapon_ on him, not really. What was a knife going to do against those scales?

It was the only option he had, though. Appeal to the humanity that he knew Steve had, that he’d glimpsed from James in their short time together.

Clint slipped around the dragon that had been holding him captive, threw himself into the open cavern and between the two of them. He held a hand up to each of them, his voice echoing off the walls, climbing over the echoing growls that shook him like a bass drum.

“Stop it, both of you!”

He was already wincing, sure he’d be torn apart or tossed aside, sure he was about to be party to the most destructive showdown of the week (Clint had an interesting life, what could he say). Clint waited for the pain, for the claws to sink into him, as the growling continued. Finally, he dared open one eye.

Steve was to his left, slack-jawed and still. On his right, James was still growling, but he’d eased back slightly, shrunk a little, his scales receding again.

“Bucky?” Steve finally asked, his hoarse whisper almost inaudible.

James froze, his eyes widening a fraction, his stance falling an involuntary step back. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

It maybe could have been, probably should have been, a moment to breathe. But Clint had been cursed to live in _interesting times_ by some witch a long time ago. Or they were, technically speaking, still in the middle of a combat-heavy rescue situation.

Steve opened his mouth to say something else, instead let out a low grunt of pain as a bullet hit his back, the shot echoing down the tunnels. James shoved in front of Clint, all the ferocity of a dragon back in a moment as he charged up the hall.

Clint rushed forward again, grabbed Steve’s arm to steady him. He spotted his bow and quiver slung over the other man’s shoulder, raised an eyebrow. “What, are you stealing my gig?”

“Go find Natasha, smartass,” Steve offered instead, passing over the weapons. “Tony’s destroying their computer programs and she’s rescuing scientists we’re guessing they kidnapped to build another Bifrost.”

“Aw man, I was supposed to give you guys that intel.” Clint shouldered his weapons, looking up the tunnel James had gone down. His hand squeezed Steve’s arm briefly, even as the dragon grew and scales overtook the nanoarmor he wore. “Do _not_ fight him, Steve. He’s as much of a prisoner as anyone.”

Steve glanced at him, his gaze as intense as a blue flame, but nodded once. He pushed Clint down a hall--the right side, where he’d gone before. There was shouting, more gunfire, from further up, so the time to discuss was long over. Clint took off, mentally retracing his steps to the floor grate. Easiest access point.

Out of the frying pan, into the firefight. Clint tucked and rolled as soon as he came up from the grate, almost crashed directly into Natasha as she ducked behind the same cover.

"Clint?" It took someone who knew her well to hear the shock, the confusion, to read how absolutely flabbergasted her single raised eyebrow said she was.

He grinned. "I've been gone for less than a day and you already forget me? Rude, Tasha."

Her eyeroll was more obvious as she reloaded. "We've got two prisoners to rescue and six guards to take out."

He shoved himself up out of cover, bow ready and an arrow nocked. Clint ducked again as more gunfire sounded, nodding. "Five Hydra assholes left. Does any of the tech matter? I can get three with a shockwave if you can get the two on the left."

"Remind me to always work with you."

"You'd kill me before the end of the first day. On three?"

They went on two, gunfire and a crackling explosion of flames. Once more, raised eyebrows turned to him.

"Shockwave?"

"Whoops?"

Natasha punched his arm, which was basically her equivalent of an intense hug. He really knew her so well. "I don't know why we bothered mounting a rescue mission for you. Every time you've been captured, you've either annoyed your captors enough to be let go or turned them to your side. Dragon ally?"

"Remind me which happened with you again?" He smiled, nodding towards the door. "Really, having to come rescue me is just speeding up the timeline to rescue the nerds. Speaking of…"

They moved to the next room, looking around the too-quiet cavern. There was no way it was _only_ six guys between them and the prisoners. They never got _that_ lucky.

Still, the quiet was decent enough. He didn’t have an earpiece at the moment, but judging by the slight crease between Natasha’s brows, he didn’t want one. “Tony doing a running commentary?” Clint guessed, settling into the standard two-person infiltration as they came to another door.

“He’s complaining about how pathetic supervillain operational security is.” She shook her head, clearing to the right as he went left. Still nothing. “Any idea who they’re holding?”

“I didn’t even know there were two people. I only overheard one conversation before I had to book it back to James’ nest.” Bucky’s nest? He was going to have to follow up on that little moment.

“James, huh? You know, just because you name something doesn’t mean you get to keep it.”

“Worked with you, didn’t it?” Clint grinned, even as an explosion shook the room they were in. “You think that one was friendly, or should we get ready to run?”

They both ducked as something crashed through the ceiling, a massive humanoid shape--that was all Clint had time to look at. He pulled his bow and aimed high. If it had a face, it might have an eye socket he could put an arrow through. The room temperature plummeted, an icy wind blasting his shot off target.

“Fuck. Nat, go!”

“Don’t get captured again!” She ran while he distracted it, the two of them splitting up.

Clint fired twice more, thankful that as big as it was, it moved slow. One massive fist crashed down towards him and he rolled out of the way, pulling another arrow from his quiver. He aimed for the fist as it hit the floor, gave himself a mental pat on the back for packing stickies.

Right, strategy. He couldn’t hold it in place forever--time to use his smart person brain. Years of honed skills were nothing compared to the pull of instincts, and a thought echoed in his head.

_The bigger they are, the harder they fall._

Not the most original plan, but who wouldn’t want to _Empire Strikes Back_ a giant when presented with the option? Clint yanked his rappel cord free from his belt, tying it to the end of his arrow and shooting across the room. He ran, ducked and dodged its fists and feet, wove himself around the hulking thing’s ankles.

Mostly satisfied with the job, he got behind it, whistled and prepared another blast arrow as it slowly shifted to face him. Grinning like a maniac, he shot for its face once again.

More sticky exploded across the thing’s face and it stumbled back, tripping over the line and falling with another world-shaking boom. Clint looked at the mess on it with a little frown. “Maybe I _do_ need to start labeling these things.”

Time for that later. He ran while it was down, made a mental note to let someone else know that a giant monster would probably need to be finished off.

More gunfire caught him up with Natasha, pinned down shielding two individuals from an advancing Hydra squad.

“The big thing dead?” She asked as she ducked to reload and he settled in to cover.

“Close enough to it. These our two rescues?” He glanced at them, raising an eyebrow. 

“Doctor Eric Selvig and his assistant, Jane Foster.”

“Hi, I’m Clint.” Selvig, that name was familiar. He’d scratch that mental itch later. For the moment, Clint snagged the spare handgun from Natasha’s boot, holding it out to the two. “Please tell me one of you knows how to shoot.”

Jane took the gun, checking it quickly before looking back at him. “You’re not seriously asking me to help you rescue us, are you?”

“No, I’m just asking you to watch our six. If a giant… giant comes crashing through--actually, we’ll probably know it’s coming.” He leapt out of their cover with a nearly manic grin, running right at the nearest Hydra agent.

“Clint you _suck_!” Natasha called as she came up from cover, taking down two of the stunned agents in their pause. Clint threw himself at the closest, managed to get behind him and turn them both around, use him as sword and shield--metaphorically. He forced the man to fire at one of his teammates, then a second, even as his human shield took three slugs to the chest and let out a pained gurgle.

“You’ve got kevlar on, you’ll be fine.”

A fourth shot whizzed in close and sprayed him with things he wasn’t too keen on thinking about, the man in his arms becoming literal dead weight. Clint dropped him and ran for cover, jerking his head up.

“Aw, sniper, no.”

It didn’t take a physics genius to know that he was locked in the sniper’s line of sight. Probably he was saying some catchy one-liner at that very moment, unaware that Clint’s diversion had worked perfectly.

The gun clattered to the ground and a moment later a body fell beside it. Natasha climbed back down the catwalk she had scaled, turning to Dr. Sevig and Jane. “Anyways, we should probably leave.”

“Please,” Jane agreed, looking over her shoulder.

“Hostage rescue complete, Tony, let’s get to pick-up. Yeah, I even managed to get Clint.”

“Screw you, I rescued myself!” Clint yelled.

“He absolutely did _not_ rescue himself. Rendezvous in five. Is Steve using his words yet?”

Okay, so there was a slight downside to not being on comms with everyone else. He couldn’t properly defend himself for whatever trash Tony and Natasha were probably talking about him.

Clint took point as they moved through the facility, let Natasha take over once they were outside. Tony joined them at the jet, his faceplate flipping up. He looked worse for the wear, just like the rest of them.

“Good to see you again, Legolas.”

“Starting to think that you don’t miss me when I get kidnapped, Stark.”

Natasha cut their banter short, shoving Clint towards the cockpit. “If you’re good enough to make jokes, you’re good enough to get us flying. Tony, any word from Steve?”

“Radio silence. I’ve been trying to track him down, and--”

It wasn’t one bone-shattering roar this time, but two. Clint froze halfway to the cockpit, looking over his shoulder as the earth shook and part of the mountain blew clean off.

“Okay yeah no, getting the hell out of here,” he decided as the giant ( _giant_ , it was a giant _giant_ he had no other word for it) tore its way out of the side of the mountain. Two forms flew around it, one blood red and the other a shining silver. Clint looked just long enough to see them working together, and then he was focused on getting their bird in the air. Steve and James would take care of it and they’d figure out the rest of the logistics later.

“ _Welcome back, Agent Barton. I’ll be your co-pilot today,_ ” J.A.R.V.I.S. said as they lifted off.

Clint laughed, maybe a _little_ hysterical. “Did Tony put the ‘my AI is my co-pilot’ sticker on the jet yet?”

“ _It seems Mr. Stark has forgotten about that plan temporarily._ ”

“No I haven’t, I just haven’t printed a sticker yet!” Tony called from the back.

He settled into the pre-flight checklist, the familiar post-mission adrenaline crash finally letting his heartbeat slow down. “Good to be back, good to be back…” They’d get home, he’d take a shower, eat some pizza, and sleep for about a day. Then it’d be more of the same, hopefully with less kidnapping.

* * *

It was not ‘more of the same’ when they got back.

Sure, he got a shower, almost an hour spent under Tony’s endless hot water and consistent pressure. Clint liked having his own space away from his ‘work life,’ but there was something magical about a shower that fluctuated in neither temperature nor pressure when someone else in the building flushed a toilet.

Clint wrapped a towel around his hips and draped another around his shoulders, mind on pizza as he opened the bathroom door. Convincing his local place to deliver to the tower was sort of impossible, but he was having a good day, all things considered. Maybe this time they'd pull through for him.

Two sets of eyes landed on him as soon as the bathroom door opened and he froze, staring back across the room. The towel at his hips slipped and Clint grabbed it a little tighter as Steve and James both stood up from his bed.

“No, no--no, guys, come on! No claiming until I have pants on!” He pointed with his free hand. “Sit down, both of you.”

At least someone had gotten James some new pants. And Steve had put clothes on, too. Small miracles--sometimes he forgot that the nanoarmor was still basically the same as being naked.

Clint hid in his closet for as long as he could, digging out his comfiest sweatpants that were here and shrugging on a t-shirt. His gear was still strewn across the floor, he debated using the transmitter to send a distress signal to Natasha. Not worth it. He’d have to face the consequences of his actions sooner or later, and she would just come down to watch if she knew what was up.

Delaying no longer possible, he stepped out of the closet and crossed to the bed, squirming in between the two dragons. James’ head fell to his shoulder and Steve draped an arm around his waist. “So…”

“You promised,” James said immediately.

“You’re already mine,” Steve countered.

For a couple of highly possessive dragons, they were surprisingly calm about this. Clint sighed, reaching up and cupping Steve’s jaw lightly, his hand searching out James’ to squeeze. “You can share me? There is enough Clint Barton to go around, you know.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but dammit, he was tired and hungry. Clint let his fingers drift up to Steve’s hair, stroked through it gently. He felt more than heard the content rumbling growl, took it as a good sign. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but it’s better than killing each other over me.”

“I couldn’t…” Steve sighed, his fingers drifting from Clint over to James. “He doesn’t remember it, but this guy… was my best friend, growing up.”

James made a face. “He keeps calling me ‘Bucky’ like he knows me.”

“Because I _do_ know you, jerk.”

No heat to either of their arguments. They were probably just as tired as he was. Clint fought in a yawn, shifting to guide all three of them to lie down. He skimmed his fingers up to James’ neck, frowning as he flinched away. Clint guided his chin back slightly, staring at the healing marks on his neck. “The collar?”

“Prongs that shocked me if I didn’t comply… But you said to stay, so I ignored it.” He looked down again when Clint moved his hand, chewing his lip. “Worth it.”

“I managed to melt the metal off him before he fully shifted to fight that giant,” Steve added, running one hot hand quickly up Clint’s side. “Thanks for leaving us that mess, by the way.”

“I figured you could handle it. At least I slowed the thing down.” His back arched, guiding Steve’s hand to a knot of sore muscles. “So Hydra makes one dragon and then summons an ice giant. Is our debrief done?”

“Done enough for now. Tomorrow we’ll have to question Doctor Selvig and Jane and Bu--James. And get your full report. And all of the files that Tony retrieved. And--”

“Too much work,” Clint protested, reaching up and turning his hearing aids off. “There, now I don’t have to do any of it because I didn’t hear the call to action.”

He felt Steve laugh against the back of his neck, and that was good enough for him. Pizza could wait until after he’d gotten some sleep. Wedged between two clingy dragons, it wasn’t like he had much choice but to stay.

It wasn't like he had any desire to leave, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write, especially considering it was based off that one episode of Supernatural with dragons just kinda... poking me in the brain with "hey, dragons are Cool."
> 
> Aside from a twist to something completely different that I'm posting sometime next week, I've got a couple of projects in the WIP folder and I'm sort of curious which one y'all might be more interested in? I'll probably write both eventually, but I'd like to pick one to focus on for now so I'm opening it up to y'all.
> 
> Option 1: Clint/Bucky modern AU home renovation/youtube career. This story is probably 75% done, I just hit a wall with it back in October and need some motivation to push through.  
> Option 2: A/B/O (because I'm trash), Hydra!Clint, Winter Soldier!Bucky, ideally it's a two-parter and I've barely scratched the surface on part 1 but I do have the entire plot rattling around in my brain.
> 
> Can't absolutely guarantee that either project will _actually_ be the next thing I finish, but if there's a lot of interest in one or the other, I'll try to put it on the priority list. <3 As always, thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next story!


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